


Withered on the Stem

by kenzieann27



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Mentioned Losers Club (IT), Mild Blood, Minor Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzieann27/pseuds/kenzieann27
Summary: On this night- of course, it had to be this night- Stanley Uris finds himself in the most frustrating situations. In this confusing world, well, it was hard not to get frustrated anymore.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 10





	Withered on the Stem

**Author's Note:**

> requested by my lovely friend liah! go show them some love on tumblr plz @souptimey

"I look like I'm wearing a dress."

"Well, I mean, aren't you used to that sort of thing?"

"Not since I was five, no."

"Wait, what? You're joking."

In retrospect, Richie should have known that he- his _loving_ boyfriend Stanley, who was, at this moment, being somewhat of a pain in the ass- was not joking, not at all, but he couldn't help but assume so with these circumstances.

"When I told you I used to wear dresses, Richie, I think I should have mentioned the fact that every other kid did, too. And that I stopped wearing them when I was five. That's just how things were," Stan said, showing off the large gray t-shirt he was wearing that easily covered the dark blue shorts he had been wearing underneath; both of these items, of course, didn't belong to him. "I'm starting to regret dating a boy that's so much taller than I am."

"Well, then, _I_ regret dating someone who's so skinny," Richie smiled.

"I sincerely doubt that," Stan said, trying his best to tuck his shirt into his shorts. "You tell me you love me too much for you to ever regret being with me."

* * *

Stanley Uris, born in 1927, was not a day over sixteen. It wasn't until Richie had met him and got to know him ( _really_ got to know him) last year that he realized that the world he lived in was a bit more complicated than he had previously known. As if his calculus homework wasn't complicated enough.

On this night, Stan had run into a rather overwhelming situation, even to someone like him. Once a month, he went on midnight walks, usually with Richie, to help clear his head of unpleasant memories that crept up on him. This was a particularly rough night.

"Oh my God," Richie had said when he greeted Stan at his front door. "Are you okay?"

The white sweated had been painted red, his arms stained and his eyes unfocused on anything. Stan muttered that there was a deer, that he didn't know what to do, that he was sorry for going out on this night. This night, of all nights.

Richie had simply nodded as Stan talked in the bathroom, that fragile teen staring ahead at the faucet in the bathtub as Richie struggled to get the blood off his arms (well, in a gentle way, anyway). "You're staying here tonight- I don't care what you have to say, Stanny, but you are. I don't want you going out there while it's this late and it's snowing and… and I just don't want to lose you, okay?"

"I can't go out tomorrow morning, either," he muttered. "So, it's only okay for _me_ to lose _you_? Not for you to lose me?"

"We're not having this conversation right now," Richie replied, glaring at Stan as he rang out the bloody water from the warm washcloth. "Not when I have a test tomorrow and you look like you murdered someone."

"If I wanted to eat something better than my shitty rations, I wouldn't be living in this tiny town," Stan commented, shaking his head. "They need to give out more rations, I really can't live off one cup a week. No wonder people are getting desperate, going out in the woods."

"Was it Ben that you ran into? I'll have to have a word with him if it was. I don't like him making a scratching post out of my boyfriend."

"What?" Stan asked, looking up confused at Richie. "I don't really- nothing happened."

"The back of your shoulder, it's- it's nothing, really, you're fine. It's just obvious that something happened," Richie said softly, tracing his fingers over the long but shallow scratch mark on Stan's back. "It must've been pretty bad if you didn't even notice."

"I knew he was there. I didn't know he touched me."

Richie snickered, shaking his head as he stood up. "Why do you have to phrase it like that?"

"Why do you have to have the sense of humor of a grade-schooler?"

"Don't act like you don't love it," he smiled. "Or me. Everyone knows you love me."

Nodding, Stan reached his hand over his shoulder, grabbing Richie's hand tightly, as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

* * *

"Wait, hold on," Richie said softly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he thought, trying to remain quiet as Stan stood anxiously in front of him by the front door. "You- you're telling me that you want to go out to the creepy woods in the middle of the night on a full moon? Really? _Really_?"

"Richie, please," Stan pleaded, staring at the boy in front of him with those dark burgundy eyes that Richie simply adored. "I'm really, really sorry, but it's… I can't."

Richie wasn't too aware of Stan's former life, the life of the person before he got turned into the monster that stood before him, but he had known enough. Stanley was originally from France, though he lost most of the accent many years ago; it wasn't too difficult to imagine his life as a Jewish child in France in those years between the two wars, but Richie tried his best not to think of it too much. The only people that seemed to know would be Stanley's parents- adoptive parents, really- though they, like Stanley, opted to keep quiet on that subject.

Stanley's parents, Donald and Andrea, had adopted Stan three years ago when they came across him living by himself in the woods; they weren't special, not like he was, but he loved them the same. They were the only family he had been welcomed into since he got separated from his actual parents, and they seemed nice enough. They were always enough for Stan, and that was all he needed. Just enough.

"No, no, it's alright," Richie said, looking over his shoulder at his pile of notes on the dining table, taking a few steps back to grab his coat off the back of the chair. "Before you showed up, I was just studying. Nothing too important, really- nothing more important than this."

"I'm sorry, I- I do this every month," Stan whispered, shaking his head and grabbing the doorknob, opening the door and remaining still as he noticed the snow beginning to fall.

"Hey, what- no, I'm coming, Stan," Richie said, pulling on his sneakers and pulling the door shut behind him. "Okay, c'mon. Let's go on an adventure tonight, shall we?"

"It's not an adventure. It's just a walk," he said, looking up at the streetlamps that kept them from being in total darkness.

"Anything can be an adventure," Richie smiled. "Especially when you're not wearing shoes- or pants, for that matter."

Stan furrowed his eyebrows as he looked down, noticing that he was very much exposed to the elements. However, Stan being Stan, it wasn't like the elements ever really phased him; he felt the exact same on a sweltering August day as he did on this freezing January night. "Should I change my clothes? I don't want people to stare or anything."

"Eh, let 'em stare," Richie shrugged. "You're the least interesting person out right now, which should be saying something. I mean, I should be having a few words with dear Benjamin, but I don't really want to be turned into a dead version of myself tonight."

"I shouldn't have asked you for help, Richie… I'm sorry, I-"

"Stan, it's okay. I promise, babe, really. Taking a walk with you is the only thing I want to do with my time right now."

"I should've gotten Eddie to help," Stan commented, pulling his hand away when Richie tried to grab it. "I- he would've been able to help, even if I hate talking to him. He makes me feel nothing but guilt."

Richie hummed in response, shoving his hands into the pockets of his thick winter coat as they walked along the sidewalk. "Who's Eddie?"

"A friend," Stan said softly, scratching at his arm. "He's not here. Well, not right now, anyway."

"I didn't take you for the type to have imaginary friends, Stanny."

"He's not imaginary. Eddie isn't here because he's back in Germany. Talking to him just takes a long time and a lot of energy that I don't really have right now," he sighed shakily, reaching his hand up to tuck a loose curl behind his ear. "Humans can't see spirits, so, to you, yeah, he'd be imaginary. I just hate that he's stuck there and I'm here. I told him not to be so _him_ about it, he just- he was always so loud. He wore every badge with honor."

"What do you mean?" Richie asked, almost hating himself for asking such a thing. He and Stan had these conversations every month, conversations Stan swore he'd never have. This time, of all times, just felt worse somehow; he never pulled away this much before, had never seemed to be so close to some form of emotional implosion.

"He's gay, Richie. And he wore _that_ badge with honor as if they weren't the ones to give it to him out of hatred."

"And you didn't?"

"At the time, I don't think I knew I was gay, but he certainly did, and that's just… I don't know. He was always so stupid, that asshole, but he was so sweet, too. Nothing ever broke him, he was always Eddie. He would give me stupid rocks and clovers and he always had this smile on his face, this smile that didn't belong on a kid covered in bruises." Stan stopped walking, shaking his head as he felt Richie grab his hand. "He said I had it worse, that- that he was fine. He was never fine, Richie, he died there. They were killing him and he didn't care and I told him- I told him to shut up but he didn't. He was proud of who he was and he took everything that they gave him because he thought they'd come for me. He loved me and I let him die there."

"None of that is your fault," Richie said, letting go of Stan's hand to hold his face with both of his cold hands (he hated himself for forgetting his gloves, but this was more important than that). "Hey, look at me. What they did is not your fault, it will never be your fault, okay? Please say okay because I don't want you thinking that it is ever your fault, Stan."

"I'm sorry for getting emotional right now," he said, pulling away from Richie's hands. "We should keep walking."

"Okay," Richie whispered, and they did.

* * *

Despite everything, Richie never grew tired of these moments in their relationship, these monthly emotional earthquakes that shook Stan to his core. They took a toll on both of them, of course, but Richie was okay with that. He, like Eddie, was willing to take anything life threw his way if it meant that he could be with Stan, if he could make sure that beautiful boy was safe and happy.

He didn't know how to define these moments other than that they just _happened_. Stan had been through more than any one person should, he'd been to Hell and back, and sometimes he needed a few hours to go out and think about it. To panic, to cry, to yell, to do whatever he needed to do to make it through another month. He tried to not go through it on these particular nights- the nights of the full moons- but he couldn't help it. Once that spark of panic occurred in Stan's mind, it spread like wildfire.

"It hasn't been this bad in a while," Richie said softly, watching as Stan stopped to stare at the woods they knew far too well. "Is it because of the moon?"

"I don't know," Stan replied, shaking his head. "You should go home, Richie. You shouldn't be out here with me."

"They're not going to get to you." And Richie meant that, he really did. He knew that the strangest things in the world occurred on these days, and so did everyone; even though they'd been getting better at adapting to the knowledge that there are strange creatures in this world, it was always the wolves that couldn't be trusted. They were too messy, too unpredictable. What happened to them on these days could never be controlled, not even by themselves.

On this night, of all nights, they weren't alone.

"Let's keep walking, Stan," Richie pleaded, trying to pull his boyfriend along with him. "We don't need to go there today. Let's just walk. We can enjoy the snow- you're glad I'm not Mike, really. He gets all nerdy over the snow."

"Mike can't stand me," Stan muttered, allowing himself to be pulled down the sidewalk. "I feel like all he does is stare at me. Beverly, too- I'm just tired of people looking at me like that."

"They just don't understand you, babe," Richie glanced back at him, offering a sympathetic smile. "Bev and Mike are just… they're weird. They like learning things. They just look at you because they want to figure you out."

"They could just talk to me."

"Maybe they're scared of you."

"I'm nothing to be afraid of," Stan said, shaking his head. "I'm just a dumb dead kid- I'm like a ghost, but you can see me and stuff. There's not much more to figure out."

"You're a lot more interesting than you think," Richie smiled. "I mean, you're going to outlive all of us. You are always going to be around and experience everything, and that's insane."

"It's depressing, really," Stan scoffed, slowing to a stop as he tried to think. "My family is dead, my friends are dead- I'm cursed with memories that I did not ask for. I'm cursed in every way, really. I- I used to love the snow, Eddie used to love the snow, but I can't even _feel_ the snow anymore. I don't think I remember what cold feels like. As much as I love what Patty did for me, I miss doing that. Holding a warm cup of coffee, laying outside in the grass on a summer day, going ice skating… it's not the same anymore."

"Hey, it's okay," Richie said softly, guiding Stan over to a long-abandoned bus stop bench; buses rarely went through Derry anymore, and no one supposed they stopped to sit on this bench very often during those stops, either. If they were coming to Derry, they were smart enough to know not to get caught by yourself on these nights. "Just- just breathe, alright? Or just… calm down. Whatever the hell you do."

"It's his stupid birthday, Richie. It's his birthday today and I- I can't even talk to him because I'm like _this_ ," he struggled to say, putting his head in his hands as he willed himself to stop it. "He would've been ninety-one. He still could've been alive right now, but he's stuck in that fucking prison. He's alone and scared and stuck with a bunch of other people that are alone and scared. He- he doesn't deserve that, Richie, he doesn't- he deserves anything _but_ that. It's fucking torture and I can't help him and I should've screamed at him, I should've taped his mouth shut if it kept him from this."

"You didn't know what would have happened," Richie tried to reason, reaching to grab Stan's hand once again.

"Oh, yeah," he scoffed. "People died there every day, but I didn't know what was going to happen. Every day you woke up and more people were gone, more people to replace them. I woke up one day and he was gone, I- I knew. In that place, when someone wasn't there, they weren't anywhere. It makes me sick just thinking about it."

"Then don't think about it."

"Richie, just- just let me feel this, okay? I can't sleep anymore because of it, I just try but he's all I see and it won't stop. Talking to him doesn't help, not talking to him doesn't help. I'm just sitting here going crazy while he's there all alone and scared. None of the others talk to him, they just sit in the field. I just- I can't not think about that. That only a year later, we finally got fed up. I don't think things were going very well, they wanted us to leave. I think they were moving us somewhere else, I- I don't really know. All I remember is that one day, there were soldiers. We were starving and exhausted and we didn't care what happened to us. They said we were safe now, and… I don't know what she saw in me, this nurse. She said she wanted to save me, but I don't know, I- I didn't think there was much to save at that point. My friends were dead, I had no idea where my family was," Stan said, attempting to pull his hand away from Richie's, who held on strong. "I went home, but no one was there. I waited a month, but no one showed up, so I got on a boat and came here. It took me twenty years to get the courage to go back, and that's when I saw Eddie again. Everything felt okay after that, like nothing had happened. I got to talk to him again and that was enough for me."

"You don't have to tell me this stuff if you don't want to, Stan." Richie shook his head, smiling sadly as he noticed a snowflake fall on the top of Stan's nose. "It's okay."

"Last year, I met Bill," he sighed, reaching his hand up to brush the snow out of his hair. "He had just turned ninety. I don't know how he found me or what he did, but he knew who I was. He just showed up at my house and asked to talk. He said he still loves him, Eddie- they were dating, but Bill had moved to the United States for school, I guess. That's not important, but I just- it's been seventy-five years and he still loves him. I don't know if that love even exists anymore."

"We'll have that love, for sure," Richie replied confidently.

"You're happy with being ninety and still loving someone that looks sixteen?"

"Well, I- isn't that what you are doing?"

"I'm not asking about me. And, for the record, being with you makes me happier than anything I could possibly do."

"I don't think I am really ready to make that choice just yet," Richie said, frowning as Stan rested his head on his shoulder. "As much as I love you, I think I just need time to figure out this stupid world we live in. I'm still growing, I'm still changing- and I know change scares you, babe, but it's not scary to me. I want to learn about everyone in the world like you- the ones that are different. I want to know how it feels to just develop as a human being and not just absorbing information like you do. That's the choice that I am making right now, but I might change my mind tomorrow. It might take me a year to change my mind, I- I don't know. But I think we have that time, we can do that."

"I don't want to lose you," Stan whispered, and, if it weren't for the eerie silence that came in these frigid winter months, it would have gone unnoticed. "Not like everyone else. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere, Stan. I promise," Richie sighed, drawing lines in the snow with his shoes. "And, hey, if I do end up kicking the bucket, I promise that I'll haunt your ass for the rest of eternity. That and we can have super weird ghost sex."

"You're disgusting."

"Says the one that drinks blood for a living."

"I don't do it for a living, Richie," Stan shook his head against Richie's shoulder. "I suppose I see your point, however. And I am not having sex with your ghost, only because I'm pretty sure neither one of us would be getting anything out of it."

"Well, we can just laugh about the old times, then. How stupid we were."

"How stupid we were," Stan repeated, somewhat knowing that it was true. And, if he had closed his eyes on Richie's shoulder (only for a moment, of course), trusting with all he had that he would be there when he opened his eyes again, well, he would never say.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr! @kenzie-ann27


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